


the way we complicate (it's simple)

by antijosh



Series: less talk, more love [1]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Birthday, M/M, Trainee Era, because i just can't let those boys go, same 'verse as tell me you don't want me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-20 10:51:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antijosh/pseuds/antijosh
Summary: brian's twenty first birthday is quiet, but he thinks he likes it better that way.





	the way we complicate (it's simple)

**Author's Note:**

> i do love writing birthday fics, and i haven't done one since last year so this one's for bri~ consider it a deleted scene from "tell me you don't want me". title is from "birthday" by all time low and unbeta'd bc i'm getting this up by midnight kst

December 19 th is different from any other day, beginning from the moment Brian opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to get his bearings, but when he finally does, he registers a large, warm hand splayed out across his shoulder. It’s hot and heavy even through his blanket and sleep shirt, and moreover it’s shaking him gently, likely what woke him up in the first place. 

He means to ask something along the lines of “what time is it?” but his sleep addled brain and uncooperative mouth turn it into “Who?”

“It’s me.” Jae’s voice is low, soft, like he’s trying to let Brian rest just a bit longer—ironic, all things considered.  

Brian groans as he turns over, splaying out flat on his back and blinking blearily as his eyes come into focus. Jae’s not wearing his glasses yet, just a pajama shirt and boxers with hair hanging unkempt over his forehead and eyes. His hand fell from Brian’s shoulder when Brian rolled over, and is now resting awkwardly on a wad of Brian’s covers as he hovers by the side of the bed. 

“We’re supposed to be at the trainee building for vocal lessons in thirty minutes,” Jae says, and Brian groans in acknowledgement, throwing his arm over his face. “Don’t be late,” Jae adds, and then he’s moving away, presumably to go find something to eat. Brian misses his presence immediately, if only because Jae’s body provided shelter from the bright light of their room. He lets his arm drop, watching as Jae hovers in the doorway for a second, turning back almost as if it just occurred to him.

“Oh, and happy birthday,” he says nonchalantly, pressing his lips together and bracing his hand against the door frame as he waits for a response. 

“Thanks,” Brian answers, voice hoarse and rough like it’s punishing him for using it. That’ll make vocal lessons a delight, he’s sure. The answer, though, seems to satisfy Jae, who turns back and leaves without another word, leaving Brian alone in their room with nothing to do but stare at the bottom of the bunk above him and wonder how the hell he came to be twenty one.

Wonpil’s the only one in the kitchen when Brian finally emerges, showered and dressed faster than he previously thought possible. Then again, he did skip washing his hair and is wearing pretty much the same thing he wore yesterday. 

“Happy birthday hyung,” he greets, familiar boxy smile taking over the lower half of his face. 

“Thanks,” Brian replies easily, slipping past Wonpil to poke around in the fridge. 

“There’s still rice in the cooker, and I have some soup leftover if you want it,” Wonpil offers, and then adds sheepishly, “sorry I didn’t make you a birthday breakfast.”

“If you made me a birthday breakfast it might have killed me,” Brian jokes, and Wonpil gasps in offence at the jab at his cooking skills (or rather, lack thereof). Still, when Brian presents him with a bowl of rice Wonpil ladles some soup into it, and Brian grins.

“Thanks, Wonpil-ah,” he says, and Wonpil just hums, faking aloofness just to punish Brian. 

As Brian sits to eat, Sungjin makes his first appearance of the morning, already dressed with hair combed back underneath a baseball cap. As soon as he sees Brian, he gives him a warm smile. “Happy birthday Kang Bri,” he says, ruffling Brian’s bed head as he passes. 

“Thanks hyung,” Brian replies, as best he can with his mouth stuffed with rice. 

He scarfs down the rest of the bowl as fast as he can, because the others are already gathering by the door as he’s still eating. Jae sends him a look over his shoulder, and Brian can’t tell quite what it means but if he had to guess he’d say it’s something akin to annoyance. 

“I’m ready,” he announces, dropping his bowl in the sink with a clatter and running a hand through his hair in one final effort to get it out of his eyes. He fails, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“Then let’s go,” Sungjin says, ushering everyone through the door before shutting it behind himself. 

Lessons are a little different than usual, in continuance with the theme of the morning. They’re preparing for an appearance on WIN, which means that everyone needs to be at the top of their game. Brian has rap to practice too in addition to his regular vocals, and sometime in mid morning Jackson and Mark show up to practice with him. It’s hard work, and soon Brian grows tired of watching his own reflection as their performance falls short every time. They push and push until it’s time to break for lunch, which is when Brian’s parents call. 

“Younghyun-ah.” His mother’s voice is crackly through Kakao, but it’s the best way they have to talk when they’re oceans apart. “Happy birthday! Did you eat yet?”

“I was about to,” Brian laughs, pulling his phone away from his ear to check the time. “Thank you for calling me, but it’s so late there! When will you sleep?”

His mother tsks at him for that. “I should be asking you that! What kind of son you are, to nag his mother about going to bed on time. How is practice today?”

“Good,” Brian chirps, hoping that the strain isn’t too evident in his voice. He never wants to give his mother reason to worry—she finds enough reasons all on her own. 

They chat a bit longer; his mother tells him about the ladies in her bridge club and Brian hums along, making small exclamations of “wow” and “really?” where appropriate. His dad gets on at the end, just long enough to wish Brian a happy birthday and tell him to not work too hard, that he’s already made them proud enough to last a lifetime. Brian has to end the call before he gets too choked up, shooing them off the line with the excuse that it’s past midnight in Toronto and that they should go to sleep. 

He gets right back to work after that, and the day seems to fly by in a flurry of practice and a little bit of songwriting crammed in the late afternoon. By the end of it all, Brian’s bone tired—the only thing that keeps his feet moving is the idea of sinking into his mattress back at the dorm, pulling the duvet up to his chin and becoming one with the bed for as many hours as he can steal. 

The van is completely quiet as they go home, and Brian’s sitting in the back with Wonpil, who is resting his cheek on his palm as he stares out the window. Jae is in front of Wonpil, which means that Brian can see his head fall back, lips parting and eyes fluttering shut as he drifts in and out of sleep. He looks so soft like this that it’s hard to reconcile this Jae with the Jae that Brian deals with everyday, the defensive one who makes Brian’s life more difficult than it really needs to be. 

Brian tears his eyes away, forcing himself to look out the window instead. Even in the dark of the night, he can see the orange light of street lamps bouncing off the puddles that line the road after days of rain. When he was younger, Brian always wished for snow on his birthday. Some years he got it and some he didn’t, but he can’t remember having a birthday with this much rain. At this point, it feels like a metaphor for something. 

Brian feels nothing but dread when they pull up to the apartment building, because it means that he has to actually get his legs to carry him out of the car and up the stairs before he can collapse into bed. He’s definitely taken cat naps on the stairs before, but at least he was drunk then. Sober as he is now, he thinks it might be a little more frowned upon. 

Somehow he makes it all the way up, nothing but the sound of his own breathing filling his ears. Everyone’s too tired to talk, and beaten down by the fact that tomorrow they have to get up and do it all over again—everyday, just the same. At this rate, Brian thinks that his twenty second year won’t be any different than the last. 

As soon as they’re inside, Brian tries to make a beeline for his room, but cool, slender fingers wrap around his wrist before he can get very far.    
“We have something for you,” Jae says, soft and even and punctuating his words with a jerk of his head towards their cramped kitchen. Now that Brian stops to look, that’s where Wonpil and Sungjin are hovering, when usually they’d both be heading to bed. 

“Oh,” is all Brian can think to say. Jae drops his wrist and turns for the kitchen, and Brian follows obediently. Soon enough, they’re all crowded around their table, and Sungjin’s reaching into the fridge to pull out a tiny cake. It’s simple, covered in white frosting and topped with cut fruit and Brian has absolutely no idea how they managed to get it in here without him noticing. (Brian sort of prides himself on knowing the contents of their fridge at all times.)

Wonpil’s got the candles and lighter, and Brian feels a bit awkward as he just sits at the table and watches Wonpil’s clumsy fingers attempt to light them. There’s only seven, which is fair—twenty one candles would be a lot to ask of this small cake. Jae’s the one who flicks the lights when the candles are finally lit, and Wonpil finally brings the cake to the table with a smile that’s way too bright for this time of night. Still, Brian appreciates it just the same. 

Sungjin starts to sing and the others follow, leaving Brian to sit and listen in awe. They’re a little hoarse from all their lessons today, vocal chords pushed to the breaking point by no one but themselves as they prepare for the show PD-nim wants them to appear on, but it’s still beautiful. Still meaningful. Brian knows that the others want to go to bed just as much as he does, but they stayed for him, and that’s what matters. 

He thinks about his parents, oceans away in Toronto, who stayed up till midnight to call him. He thinks about the texts he got from Terry and Don, full of emojis and old ugly photos. And as he looks at his members in front of him, the guys who, if everything goes right, he’ll spend the rest of his career with, and all Brian can feel is relief.

Relief that he’s not alone, no matter how much it feels like it sometimes. Relief that there’s people he can trust to be by his side, even when he’s doing his best to push them away. He’d like the blame the fact that he gets a little choked up on how tired he is, but really it’s because he’s grateful.

“Thank you,” Brian says as the song finished, for what feels like the fiftieth time that day. But really, what else is there to say? He could scrape together a speech about how thankful he is for the other members, and it would be true, but it’s late and he’s not sure he could get through it without tears and no one wants that. He’ll save that for their birthdays, or for when they’ve actually debuted. 

“You’re a good hyung,” Wonpil adds without prompt, squeezing Brian’s shoulder. It’s a comforting feeling, and Brian puts his hand over Wonpil’s to keep it there just a moment longer before letting go. He was looking at Wonpil too, but when he looks back across the table he sees Jae’s eyes on them, arms crossed over his chest as he remains silent. Brian drops his eyes to the cake, inhaling shallowly.

“Should we eat it, then?” he asks, and that makes Wonpil laugh.

“You’re all about the food, hyung,” he jokes, and Brian laughs along, though he doesn’t know what he’s doing exactly. It’s impossible to shake the feeling of Jae’s eyes on him, and he feels as if he’s performing—showing Jae that he’s fine, that he doesn’t need his attention or approval. He just hopes Jae didn’t catch the moment of weakness while they were singing, because that’s the last thing Brian needs. It bothers Brian that he’s letting this moment be spoiled by his feelings about Jae, but he diverts his attention the the butter knife Sungjin’s handing him to cut the cake. 

They eat quickly, everyone happy to have food but ready to sleep as soon as possible. Wonpil lightens the mood with a funny story Jinyoung told him about Yugyeom and BamBam getting into trouble, and that makes everyone laugh. 

Sungjin splits off first, then Jae, and finally Sungjin bids Brian goodnight after helping to clean everything up and wash their dishes. 

Brian lingers just a bit longer, using the hall bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face before heading to his room to finally change and sleep. When he opens the door Jae is already in bed, curled up in a fetal position and scrolling through something on his phone. Brian changes quickly, wordlessly slipping into bed after he shuts the lights off.

“‘Night,” he says, more out of habit than anything else, but this time Jae actually responds. 

“Happy birthday,” Jae wishes him, one final time. Brian checks the clock—it’s nearly two a.m.

“Not my birthday anymore,” he jokes, just to be difficult. “Just another day.”

Jae snorts. “What a depressing way to think about it.”

“Just being realistic,” Brian replies.

“Yeah, well,” Jae sighs, turning with a rustle of his covers so he’s flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “Think about it this way: the next time you have a birthday we’ll have debuted.”

Brian just hums in response; he could be pessimistic and point out that they don’t know that yet, but he doesn’t want to do that. For tonight, he just needs to believe in something, and that something is them, their members and their group. So Brian falls asleep, newly twenty one and dreaming of how everything will be different next year. It has to be. 


End file.
